


The Little Death

by TempleMap



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Canon Compliant, Character Study, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masturbation, Oh no there’s only one bed, Pining, loss of self, what will happen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:54:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25753168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TempleMap/pseuds/TempleMap
Summary: If there’s a way it’s all meant to begin, Eren wouldn’t know it.———Eren’s face is buried in Levi’s neck. “I don’t know what to do,” he says. “Tell me what to do.”“Then calm down a bit. You’re rushing.”“Am I?”He just wants to lose himself completely; to be devoured whole.
Relationships: Levi/Eren Yeager
Comments: 36
Kudos: 417





	The Little Death

**Author's Note:**

> No major spoilers for after season 3. Minor mentions of small events, but these are kept vague.

If there’s a way it’s all meant to begin, Eren wouldn’t know it. 

In the barracks, in late nights, soft and gentle under the sound of snoring, there were sometimes indications — sometimes, the lowly hiss of two voices speaking; a gasp in the calmness. That buttery noise of a hum rising from the chest to the throat. 

Eren had put the pillow over his ears, once. Had grumbled to himself and sighed — had felt awkward. Embarrassed. Wondered if whomever was fucking knew he could hear them. Wondered if any other cadets sharing this same, dark barrack heard as well. 

Even before that, when they had starved — he, Armin, and Mikasa— in the black storehouses of Trost, he had heard others speaking and groaning and sighing. Saw dark bodies rubbing together like silhouettes of crickets. 

In the dark someone had said, “Who’s selfish enough to get pregnant at a time like this?”

And without really knowing, Eren somehow understood. 

The rest came through parables. Dumb stories other kids told; something about girls bleeding when they wanted a baby. Something about where other boys liked to be touched. Half-truths and bastardizations of truth. 

By thirteen, at least some semblance of understanding had been given to him by experience. Mikasa tossing out her bloody undergarments in the early morning — whacking a panicked Armin and Eren when they reminded her of the woman who had given birth in the storehouse and died. Jean’s own lofty tales (“Yeah, this girl. I took her tit in my hand… No, of course this happened! Shut up!”). The noises of teenagers in the barracks. Eren had walked in on something, once; had come back to fetch a second harness he had kept near his cot, found a girl on her knees, a boy awkwardly sitting on the bed. Her head in his lap. 

“What the fuck are you doing?”

And he asked because, honestly, there was no way in hell he understood. 

His depth of personal experience was sorely his own. He had fallen into the habit of masturbation by either accident or instinct — he would never be sure. But this, at least, was one thing he could rationalize. He could appreciate frustration being worked into a release. Yet, his use of imagery was abstract, never concrete to one act or person. He imagined stretches of bodies, none of which he knew: stomachs, backs, thighs. Imagined a hand that wasn’t his own. 

On the whole, he didn’t have time to think of it. Romance. Family. Sex… small distractions that all seemed brittle. Temporary. Obsolete. So beyond his scope of measurement, that most things went over him. Armin had crawled into his cot in the deep, late night. Had wrapped his arms around Eren’s chest and pressed his body close. Had dug his face into the nape of Eren’s neck, and did nothing more.

If it was ever meant to be something, Eren wouldn’t have known it. His own reaction was a soft sigh. A whisper of promising the next day of training would be better — “ _ It’s okay, Armin. Really. You’re smart. You’re going to get better at it. _ ”

And so the first time it happens — that low twist in his stomach, that flashing kick-up of his heart, and the needling pain of  _ want _ that pricks at his fingertips— it’s enough of a jolt for him to blurt:

“ _ Fuck _ .”

And from the spot he had been leaning, white kerchief just past his face, Levi glances over his shoulder. 

It had never begun innocently. Never, really, by random accident if Eren is honest with himself. 

Nerves. He had blamed nerves at the beginning — being beaten bloody, his head beneath the heel of Levi’s boot, Eren had correlated his oft-racing heartbeat with some unrelinquished fear that hadn’t subsided in the following month.

But then, in Levi’s short absences, Eren wandered. Hallways, corridors, empty spaces; all trudged through in attempt for any hint of the man. Eren best enjoyed two brief instances of time: Levi’s curt “ _ Goodnight _ ” with the closure of the cell door, and his tired-sounding “ _ Get up _ ” in the mornings. 

Eren was stupid in many ways — he knew it; made up for it with earnest action — but at least he knew fear-based nerves had nothing to do with it. 

(He’s even let Levi kick a tooth out again, if it meant being touched—)

So: idol worship. Maybe. He knew who Levi  _ was _ before he really  _ knew  _ him. Eren was “puppy-dogging,” as Oulo had called it.

“Yeah, I’ve had lots of those types around me, myself,” had said Oulo. “Puppy-dogs.” 

(From the room’s edge, Petra rolled her eyes.)

Idol worship. Alright. Eren could stomach that. But as Levi bled into the persona of everything his hero-image  _ wasn’t _ — short, crude, aggressive, nit-picky — Eren found himself liking him all the more. Dropped from this warrior image came a different man entirely:

One who, in the dark stretch of a stone staircase, had buried his face into his palms and gave a shaking, shaking sigh. 

One whom had cut out the cross-stitched emblems that had been upon his squad’s clothing — Petra’s, lost to the field, he had remade in her honor; an amateur’s bastardization of embroidery that had left needle-prick holes in his fingers — and laid it in front of their empty graves. 

In Trost, the city had been half-reduced to rubble. A limited success had put Annie in “Some fucking salt-lick cocoon,” as Levi had called it. There were monsters in the walls, and Eren rotted away in a white bed —  _ “Just heal,” Mikasa had said _ — when Levi came to pay him a visit. 

And, it’s weird to see him in clothing other than a military uniform. Black pants, black blazer. Is this what he chooses to dress like? Eren likes it, despite never thinking about those sorts of things. And were Levi’s eyes not so sharp, perhaps he could have looked normal in his civilian clothing. Average, almost, despite the military haircut that Eren sometimes contemplated the feeling of.

(Prickly, little hairs Eren dreamed of running his fingers across; a repetition of texture until you raise a hand upward; the longer parts of Levi’s hair looked soft, Eren could  _ bet _ it was soft and he wondered what it would feel like between the ridges of his knuckles). 

Levi’s still limping — a break in the ankle that Eren will forever blame himself for. The injury had been enough to pull Levi from battle. Like some hurt animal, he had been side-lined; reduced to a tiny spectator of Eren’s monstrosity. 

And yet, Eren was astounded by him. If Levi’s leg never healed, it didn’t matter. Fuck it. Humanity’s strongest could become humanity’s weakness for all Eren cared. His chest still rose and tightened when Levi sat upon his bed. Good gods, he was happy; a city half destroyed, barely any progress had been made, but this injured man who had lost his great potential still astounded Eren. 

And he wanted to cry — weep these big, stinging tears — when Levi ruffled his unwashed hair and said:

“You fucked up in a few ways, but you did good.”

What a phrase. What a sentence. It sat warm in Eren’s heart. For a year, it mulled like the spices in warm, winter wine. And while all things ebbed and flowed — enemies, stories, identities, truths — Levi managed to remain the same. 

And Eren clung onto it. 

He knew: always, he would be that dumb kid in the dark stretch of a stone cell — head obscured by a pillow, hand fisted around his own cock — putting a face and personality to the once-abstract images in his own head.

All he saw was Levi, Levi, Levi. 

And he liked the taste of Levi’s name on his tongue. Gasped and panted the syllables against his teeth when he rutted his hand against himself.

Levi. Levi. Levi. 

Eren’s hair grew longer. Over the months, tracks on a railroad, doomed to be abandoned, were laid closer and closer to the sea. In all honesty, Eren knew a great deal mattered more than the broad line of Levi’s shoulders, or the flutter in Eren’s stomach when the captain stood too close. 

But there was a relief in those moments; a break from the churn of imagery that spun like tar in his head. The curve of Levi’s jawline. The calluses on his palms. That sharp tug that went all the way from Eren’s scalp to his groin whenever Levi pulled his hair (“ _ Stop daydreaming, Eren. _ ”).

Sometimes, he could still be that love-struck, horny brat, even if Eren had stopped feeling like himself long ago. 

They make a stop in Shiganshina on their return to the ocean. Exhaustion had made the broken homes look inviting; the deep hue of midnight could almost hide the carnage that ten years had never healed. Hange apologises before she instructs to set up camp; looks with tired, downcast eyes between Eren, Armin, and Mikasa. 

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I can only imagine the horror of being here again. But the horses—”

“It’s alright,” says Eren, but there’s a flickering weight in his chest. “It’s alright.” 

They intend to sleep in the carcases of old homes. The choices are scarce; most buildings are half of what they once were and threaten collapse. Wood beams crack from the vibrations of their footfalls. Dirt drifts down from the ceilings.

“Not this one,” Hange would say before going to inspect another. 

Eventually, there are a two residences deemed safe enough for shelter: two houses mostly made from stone and brick, set on opposite ends of a narrow street —

( _ Four streets down from where Eren’s home had been; a right turn on Vogel Straat, two minutes down the main street, a sharp corner through an alley where an old woman used to hang her white linen on a clothesline that stretched across to her neighbor’s window… _ )

— and there are enough rooms to suit them comfortably.

Hange splits them by gender (“Because,” she says, “Splitting by titan-shifter or human doesn’t seem too fair.”) and directs the men to the building with at least three rooms to spare. Eren watches the girls disappear into the darkness of the street. His last sight is of Hange wrapping an arm over Mikasa’s shoulder, pulling her close like a mother would do. 

In the boys’ dilapidated shelter, an issue comes to light quickly.

It’s a two-story home with white, molting eaves and bricks along the base. Glass crunches beneath their boots. Old furniture, blanched from the sun and snow, sit piled in every room. There are four main spaces on the bottom floor. One clearly meant as a bedroom (frayed and moth-eaten quilts left behind), a second acting as what must have been a small shop space, and a third — perhaps once a kitchen — torn out from the door outward, its floor exposed to sky. Near the staircase: a washroom and toilet where no water ran. 

The staircase shakes beneath their weight.

Connie tests a step. It squeals. “Hange said this thing was safe?”

“If you don’t trust it—“ Levi begins before the broad side of a plank cracks beneath Connie’s toe. Two more in the row above break and clatter to the ground, set off by lack of equilibrium. 

They stare at the broken staircase. 

“Do we find a new place?” asks Armin.

“And spend another hour searching?” Jean shakes his head. “I’d rather just use our gear to get up there.”

“Waste of gas and effort,” says Levi. “And the floor may not be stable.”

“I guess we don’t need to access the rooms on the top floor,” says Armin. “There are enough rooms down here.”

“But, then we’ll all have to share rooms,” says Connie. 

“I mean,” says Armin. “We’ve kinda always done that.”

But Eren understands what Connie means — likely, they all do. The outlier of the moment isn’t the grouping of sleep space among the 104th, but the obvious fact that there is no room large enough for four of them to fit. Rusted nails. Glass. Debris. Heavy, splintering furniture clog up available spaces in heaps. The less sleeping mats per room, the better the chances of avoiding tetanus. 

It was obvious that a scenario would have to be breached: 

Someone would have to share a room with the captain. 

Levi, likely having come to this conclusion long ago, sighs and crosses his arms over his chest. “Figure it out,” he says. “But I’ll kick out whoever snores.”

“I snore,” yelps Connie, quickly. 

“Coward,” hisses Jean. 

Levi shakes his head. The soles of his boots sound down the dark hallway. “Figure it out,” he repeats again. “And then go to fucking sleep.” 

There’s a lull.

The sound of a shutting door. 

And then Jean breathes out a sharp whisper: “I vote Eren.” 

“Yeah,” says Connie. He pats Eren on the back. “Captain can actually stand you.” 

“And you used to act like his goddamn bitch all the time,” confirms Jean. 

“Hey, guys,” says Armin. “It’s more fair to pick straws. Or, um, sticks, I guess.”

But to this, Eren shakes his head. 

“It’s okay.” Okay. Just okay. And that’s how it feels, as everything seems to now: an emotion stunted by larger things — by larger personalities and ideas and ideals that Eren can barely shoulder.

He’s tired. He’s so fucking tired. 

He leans over to take his rucksack from beside the door. “Sleep well,” he says in passing and the three watch in silence as he goes. 

No one ever seems to know what to do with him, lately. They watch and they wait, as they seem to do with everything now. 

At the end of the hallway, a white light squeezes out from beneath the bedroom door — Levi’s lamp not yet extinguished. Still awake. 

And it’s that little knowledge that cracks alight  _ something _ . A spark that pops along Eren’s spine. A heart that suddenly speeds. An inhale and exhale of breath that goes just a bit more shallow. 

His head, always bogged with everything damp and heavy, lightens. And he feels something — not dread. Not anger. Not depression. Not the weight of a million lifetimes and curses. 

He is, for a brief moment, only Eren Jaeger: experiencing a moment of amazement and anxiety for a situation only he would know. 

When the knuckle of his finger knocks on the door, Eren’s heart is pounding between his shoulder blades. The scenario astounds him. In the five years they’ve known one another, neither he nor Levi had ever—

“Yeah.”

What does he look like while he sleeps? Eren wonders. Does he breathe deeply? Does he dream? Does he wake up with a stiff dick like the rest of them? 

Eren feels the heat in his face. Turns the knob of the door and creeps into the room.

Levi’s on his knees, smoothing out his bed roll. The room is remarkably cleaner than it had been before. He glances over his shoulder to look Eren up and down. 

“Figured it’d be you,” he says, returning to his work. “I’m a bit relieved.”

And,  _ oh _ , that really sent the air right out of Eren’s lungs. 

“I’m glad to hear that,” he says, a bit breathless. 

Levi looks over his shoulder again; seems to be staring at Eren’s face. Maybe looking for the happiness that Eren had claimed to have. 

“You’re looking a bit better,” says Levi. “You usually look comatose.” 

“I know,” says Eren, and that stings like guilt. He swallows. “Sorry. I’m just…”

“It’s alright.” Levi shakes his head. “You don’t owe me an explanation.”

But Eren wants to, and it sits there, at the bottom of his throat: every dark word and apology he wants to cry out. Details of the great sadness and disappointment that had robbed him of himself. 

He wants to say… He wants to say…

_ Sometimes, I’m able to feel like myself again when I’m around you.  _

Eren leans against the closed door. The room is so poorly lit, just the linear white glow of their lanterns casting shadows where the light won’t hit. Levi’s unfurled bedroll lays in the center. Planks and dust and cobwebs clutter the peripherals of the room, creating just a small, clean space directly in the middle. 

Eren would have to set up his own bed rather close to Levi’s own.

In better days, he had daydreamed of such a scenario: a single room shared between them. He’d fantasize over the excuse of close spaces. Imagine a bold hand reaching over; imagined Levi naked, sucking him off; imagined his own hips bucking into an open mouth. 

But now, that physicality seems so simplistic. Alone in this decaying room, he aches and he needs for more; to crawl onto the bed that Levi had prepared; to wrap his arms around him. 

To bury every burning wail into another person.

He wants to break.

_ I feel like myself around you.  _

“Captain.” And Eren aches to say it, but he’s caught up in every whirling torrent. He can’t go onward unless he asks: “What do you see me as?”

If he sounds pathetic, so be it. He’s been more pathetic a million times over. Has been hauled from the steaming carcasses of titans; more burden than bounty to them all. 

The question must have caught Levi off-guard. His shoulders jump and he cranes his neck to look at Eren again, brows furrowed. 

But, he doesn’t chide. Doesn’t question. He sighs. Returns to the last preparations of his bed before standing and dusting off his knees. He faces Eren. Says: 

“A brat.” 

And that’s a word that has fit every scope of Eren’s lifetime. When Eren chuckles, it’s painful. 

“Even now? When I’m…”

“Eren,” Levi interjects. His voice is kind. Low-toned. Gentle. “You’ve remained the same monster since the day I met you, and not because of your titan bullshit.”

When Eren says nothing, he continues: “If you’re looking for me to define your personality, I can’t give that to you. People change as things change, but however you find yourself as, that’s still who you are.”

Eren swallows. His throat stings. His voice is shaking when he whispers, “You’re okay with that? With me?”

“I wouldn’t have put up with your shit for so long if I wasn’t.”

“I want you to hate me sometimes.”

“Trust me, I do. Sometimes.” He’s watching Eren’s face. Tilts his head toward the center of the room. “Make your bed.” 

Eren knows he is so many things to so many people. But he’s trapped, really, by the image of the person he was: as the galvanized child that Armin still believes him to be; as the saint and savior Mikasa won’t forgo. 

Now, he is none of those things. 

He had hated what he found outside the walls. 

Even as a child, he was a murderer, seeing in blacks and whites… then, and now, and forever in the future. 

His own perception of self has changed, and the self-loathing carries like the heaviest of weights. 

How had Levi done it? How could he have always seen Eren as the monster he was, and accepted him, still? How is it, despite that, Eren feels the most human around him?

“Having to share a room with me that bad?” Levi asks. There’s humor in his dry tone. 

Eren blinks. His vision has gone watery. He wipes a hand against his eyes. Hadn’t even realized he was crying. 

“God,” he curses. “No. It’s not that. Ah, I’m sorry, captain.” 

“Here.” And Levi kneels down beside him. Takes the bedroll from Eren’s grip and lays the mattress less than a forearm’s distance from his own. Eren sits beside him, silent. His arms wrapped around his knees. 

“I don’t know why I’m tearing up,” Eren lies.

Levi shakes his head. “You don’t always have to know why. Just don’t keep me up all night with your crying.”

Eren manages a sloppy smile. Curls his fingers in the front of his hair when he sighs into his palms. 

“You know,” he says, taking in a shaky sigh, “This used to be a bakery. We’d buy our bread from here. Everyone in my neighborhood did.”

Levi goes quiet. He smoothes out the bedsheets and fluffs the thin pillow before he says with a deep and mournful hush:

“I’m sorry.”

And the words sink in Eren’s stomach. 

He’s quiet when he says: 

“I didn’t understand it, back then, when it happened.” Of all things to have a perfect memory of, it will always be that last moment of his mother. “A lot has changed. I feel so different from who I was, but deep down… I’m still angry.” 

“I wouldn’t expect you to be anything less.” 

Eren shakes his head. “I don’t know what will happen to me.” Another lie. “Or, I have an idea, but… I don’t know.” 

“Just take it a day at a time.” 

“I can’t afford that, captain.” 

Levi tilts his head, his eyes turn upward toward the ceiling. “I know.” 

“I’m losing myself to all of this,” says Eren. His voice cracks, “I’m just… God, I’m sorry. I’m always fucking crying.”

“You’re getting yourself worked up.”

“I know. I know.”

“Eren,” says Levi. He faces him again. “On a personal level… This is the most I’ve heard you talk in five months.” 

It’s sudden. Unexpected:

A sob stumbles out from Eren’s lips. He digs his temples between his bent knees, chest heaving, as he makes an utter fool out of himself. 

Despite all of the daydreams — all of the dark nights alone with his eyes squeezed shut, heart racing to the thought of being alone like this with Levi — here he is, in this moment, sobbing into his knees. 

He’d kick himself if he could. This is it, most likely. The end of it. They’re set for Marley after tonight. Eren knows what will happen. Eren knows where he will go. It hits him like cold water. It drowns him in the lungs: this is the last night he’ll ever be that love-sick idiot again.

_ I feel like myself around you.  _

“Fuck,” he sighs when there are no tears left. In his great sobs, he hadn’t even noticed Levi’s hand resting on the curve on his spine. Eren wipes his red eyes. Levi pulls back his hand. 

“Maybe it would have been better for you, if you roomed with Connie,” says Eren, attempting a humor he had almost forgotten he had. 

Levi snorts. “I’ll take tears over snoring.”

“That sounded sadistic, captain.” 

“Shut up, Eren. Let’s sleep.”

Levi stands and steps over to his side of the bedroll, digging out from his rucksack a canteen of water. Eren busies himself with the boots and the straps along his legs, his fingers feeling clumsy, heavy, and drunk. 

Eren misses that hand on his back. He knows Levi can be aloof, but they’re similar, the two of them: more physical than the average person. Neither stray from touch, especially on the more aggressive side of the spectrum. But aggressive or not, Eren would gladly take it all from him.

He tosses his boots aside and they clatter against the floor. When he begins to peel the harness from the arch of his feet, he catches Levi’s confused expression from the corner of his eye.

“You take your boots off first?” Levi deadpans. 

Eren blinks. “You don’t?”

“I work top down.”

“What?”

“Idiot.” And Levi groans as he stands to pull off his jacket, folding it before he drops it onto his bed. He undoes the strap across his chest and slips out his shoulders. The harness dangles from his waist. “Gravity helps, you know.”

“Yeah,” says Eren, but his focus is elsewhere: on Levi’s hands undoing the buckle around his hips. Then, to the buckles around his thighs. He undoes the top strap banded around his left leg. He’s bent slightly at the waist as he works his fingers through the loop. And, fuck, those thighs. Eren’s head is swimming. He’ll go insane from the highs and lows from this night alone. 

“Is this enthralling to you or something?”

_ Fuck _ . 

Levi’s eyes are on his face. A single brow raised. 

And Eren pales before the red, hot heat of a blush spans from the tips of his ears onto his cheeks. 

“No, captain,” he says, but his goddamn voice is hitching. “Not at all, I’m sorry. I was… just caught up thinking.”

“Uh-huh.” 

If there’s a way it’s all meant to begin, Eren wouldn’t know it. It’s always the step afterwards that he’d been introduced to: the moans already forming, the clothes already off. He’s dumb and naive and unsure, and he knows it. 

But if this is it… If this is really the last chance…

Seated on the floor, Eren undoes the buckles around his left leg. “I usually, um, just sit while taking this off. Maybe that’s why I work from my boots upward.” 

“Lazy,” says Levi. He’s undoing the straps on his right leg. The harness clatters to the floor and dangles from the top of his boots. “Haven’t you seen the others remove their harness in better ways?”

“No,” says Eren, “I don’t really watch other people change.” 

It wasn’t meant to be humorous, but it nevertheless presses an entertained huff out of Levi. “Just me, then.” 

Eren’s chest feels so damn tight. His throat feels like it's closing. His heart is going  _ thunk-thunk-thunk  _ between his ears when he confirms:

“Just you.” 

There’s silence. Eren can’t look up. His eyes are on the half-done buckle on his own hips, where his hands have stalled. His vision is spinning. 

It must be after some thought that Levi asks: “Was that meant to be a come-on?”

_ God, god, god  _ —

“Yes, sir.” 

“I see.” 

Eren forces himself to breathe. “Was it not appropriate?”

_ How the fuck do people do this? _

Levi slides off a boot. His expression, as usual, is placid. “I was just checking.” 

Eren swallows. Forces his hands to move. They shake as he undoes his belt. He sighs against the air. 

When it’s all off, Eren is still feeling fidgety. He folds his harness best he can and sets it atop his rucksack. Levi’s already on his bedroll, turned onto his side. His back to Eren. 

Awkwardly, Eren slips under the thick sheet of his own bed. The light beside him is still on and glowing bright toward the wall. He turns the gear on the back of the lantern, throwing the room into darkness. The dark blue hue from the window the only illumination. 

He’s settled onto his back when Levi speaks. 

“What are you wanting, Eren?”

The question startles him. 

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.” Levi’s voice is pointed. 

And, Eren’s heart is fluttering. His vision spotty as he stares up at the ceiling. 

“Anything,” Eren whispers. He feels utterly shaky. Tactless. Is this it? “I’ll take anything.” 

If there’s a way it’s all meant to begin, Eren wouldn’t know it, but in this instance, in this time, it’s begun with two hands pressed against his face. The smooth dexterity of Levi turning over onto the other shoulder, smearing his face against Eren’s in the dark, dark room. 

The street outside is haunted with memories; in this building, that fresh smell of bread from childhood long gone. Now what remains is the creamy scent of soap coming from Levi’s hair. The chapped press of his lips against Eren’s. The knee that moves between Eren’s own. There’s a composure in the way that Levi kisses, and he’s controlling in the motion; his palms holding the edges of Eren’s jawline as he commands the kiss. The grip is hard, and Eren loves it. Melts into it. Desperate. 

He’s not thinking. His head resounds like the crashing of waves. He registers the feel of Levi’s hair — soft, soft, soft, like he imagined it. Dark strands spill between his fingers. They’re holding each other’s faces and Eren’s body is moving on its own, pressing against whatever stable part of Levi he can find. 

He gasps when his pelvis slides against the curve of a thigh. 

“ _ Shit _ .”

He tries the same motion again. Ruts up against where Levi’s leg meets his pelvis. And  _ god _ , that’s it. That’s the feeling, right up against him. A jolt that hits Eren from between his hips to his head. He rolls into that same motion. He’s clinging to Levi, hands fisted against the front of his shirt. He rocks his hips again again again. 

When his neck cranes backward, Levi kisses the exposed space, dragging his teeth along the jugular line. He says into the skin:

“I’m not going to pity fuck you.”

Eren’s chest is heaving. He wraps his arms around Levi’s torso and groans into his shoulder. 

“I’m not asking for that.” 

“Hard to believe when you spent the first half of the night crying.” 

“I’m just a bit tactless.”

Levi snorts. His breath ruffles Eren’s hair. “Horny brat.” 

And, fuck, with Levi, that’s what he’s always been: desperate and needing and stupid. But, it’s been more than a passing fascination. More than a curiosity. It’s brought him to this night, where he bleeds the last pieces of himself into a moment. 

Into this. Into Levi. 

Eren’s face is buried in Levi’s neck. “I don’t know what to do,” he says. “Tell me what to do.” 

“Then calm down a bit. You’re rushing.” 

“Am I?”

He just wants to lose himself completely; to be devoured whole. 

“I’m still not even sure what you’re after.” 

“Whatever you’ll give me.” 

“Eren,” Levi sighs. He pulls away, slipping out from Eren’s hold. When he sits up, the dim light of the window paints the features of his face. “Be concise.” 

Eren takes a steady breath.

“Can I touch you? Will you kiss me again?”

“Alright. Are you clean?”

“I’m clean. I bathed, captain. Right when we got here. I used the water vat before the city gates.” 

“No,” and Levi shakes his head. “Diseases.”

“Ah.” Eren flushes. “No, I’ve never… Um. Done this.”

There’s just enough light for Eren to catch a brow arching upward. 

“Huh,” says Levi, simply. 

“I’m sorry—” Eren starts.

“It’s fine. What a stupid thing to apologize for, for fuck’s sake. Eren, come here.”

Eren sits up and Levi’s hands are back on him, working his shirt over his head and tossing it near a rucksack. Levi follows it with his own. 

“Can I…” Eren ventures, awkwardly. “Can I just… Request one thing?”

“What is it?”

“It’s kinda… In the dark, it’s not as nice.” 

“Fucking hell, you’re sappy.” 

Nevertheless, Levi cranks on a single lantern, turning it at its base to shine its light in the dead end of a corner. It’s enough to half-illuminate the rest of the room, filling it with shadows and light. 

And god, Eren’s seen Levi before, but never like this. Never so close. Never his to touch. There are scars along his torso, gone white from healing. He extends a shaky hand and presses his finger tips against one on Levi’s stomach. When even that is not enough, he grows braver. He dips his head low, and presses his lips against there instead. 

It shocks Eren, almost, when Levi’s hand slinks into his hair. 

“It’s long,” Levi hums. “I’m still not used to it.” 

“I can cut it.” Eren’s kissing his stomach without much thought or planning. He goes where he wants. Tastes skin as he likes. 

“Weirdly enough,” Levi sighs, and the sound is a satisfied one, “I like it.” 

Eren’s chest feels warm; it’s a lovely feeling. He asks: “Can I undo your pants?”

Levi does it for him, using one hand to undo a button, and slides his trousers and underwear down and off his body completely. 

And, fuck, Eren takes a moment. Feels every bit of blood rush straight to his face. He’s happy— Fuck, no...  _ Elated _ . He presses his nose into the soft curl of pubic hair between Levi’s navel and cock. He’s not sure how best to do it, so he goes for what he likes himself. He grips his hand at Levi’s base, dragging his hand upward with increasing pressure. Dives back down again. 

“Can I put my mouth on you?” He had imagined it a million times before. 

Levi nods; his eyes are on Eren’s. A little groan sounds from his throat when Eren smudges his lips against the head. He tilts his hips upward, straining for further depth. 

The skin is so soft. Eren keeps his jaw loose. Runs his tongue against the underside and drags it along the tip. He goes by the sound of Levi’s breathing — knows what’s best by way of each heavy exhale. He can feel his own cock straining desperately against the zipper of his pants. 

“Let me come on your face,” says Levi.

It’s a fantastic idea and, god, that shoots something down Eren’s spine. Levi’s grip is hard and steady; fingers deep into the roots of Eren’s hair. He suspends Eren’s head just a breath away from the cock that he fists. 

Eren watches Levi’s face; the way his mouth goes slack. The straightness of his teeth. The flush on his face. Levi’s grip tightens, and the tug Eren feels on his scalp is heaven, heaven, heaven. 

When Levi comes, it’s done with heavy exhales; groans coming deep, deep from his chest. He had gone utterly still; utterly quiet just right before bursting. The muscles in his stomach clenched before he went hot, hot along Eren’s face. 

Eren hadn’t expected a noise to spill from his own mouth, but it’s there, intermixed with the burst of spunk against his left cheek that he can taste on the edge of his mouth: bitter and heady. 

Levi’s fingers loosen. He gives a final sigh before letting go totally. His body still trembles, twitching at the fingers and toes. 

“Here,” he says, once he’s gained a breath. He leans over to dig into his rucksack, pulling out a single towel and his white water canister. He dampens the fabric, leans forward, and cleans up Eren’s face. 

His nose scrunches. “I hate the smell of this stuff.” 

Eren’s eyes are caught on every little detail of Levi’s face, so close to his own. “I don’t mind it.” 

“Congratulations.” 

Eren laughs. Levi shakes his head. 

“Alright,” he says. “And for the virgin?”

“What do you mean?”

Levi rolls his eyes. “How do you want to finish, Eren? You’ve been sporting a boner since we were taking off the harnesses.” 

_ Oh god, he saw that… _

Eren’s feeling anxious. He clicks his jaw once, twice, thrice in thought before asking:

“Can I come in you?”

Levi’s brow flinches. His mouth is set in a thin line. 

But nevertheless:

“Alright.” 

It’s late. Eren’s not sure how late it is, but the window outside is that paling blue color. Three in the morning? Four?

Maybe tomorrow, Levi will regret the long night; maybe in the morning, they’ll both be obvious when they appear with deep bags beneath their eyes. 

But Eren doesn’t care. Not now. 

Because —

God. His chest is heaving. Every nerve ending on fire. Levi’s spread out in front of him, his chest and face pressed into the thin mattress. 

Levi’s steadying himself with a single arm in front of his face. He twists slightly at the spine, bringing his free hand to grip himself where his ass meets his right thigh. Holding himself open. 

This is so beyond Eren’s scope of practice. So beyond anything he’s ever done — it’s intimate and dirty. Vulnerable. He’s utterly, utterly overwhelmed. 

“As I said,” says Levi. His voice is rough. “Use spit. Lots of it.” 

Eren wets two fingers in his mouth, a long, thin trail of saliva following when he pulls them from his lips. His heart is pounding in his stomach. His own cock is aching — desperately so. 

He’s not sure how best to do it, and he’s overwhelmed by the sight. Of Levi on his knees, spread legged and open for him. He first tries a single finger, pressing it against the entrance, dipping in slowly.

“ _ Tight _ ,” says Eren, breathless. He waits for the pressure to ease. Adds a second finger with some trepidation, and then he’s moving, working slowly. A timid push inward with an even slower pull. Five pumps in, Levi grunts:

“We don’t have all night.” 

And Eren gets it. He goes faster, twisting at the wrist when needed. And it’s only then, that Levi rocks back into the touch and releases a shaky, heady breath. His brows are furrowed. Mouth open. He’s pushing back into Eren’s hand. 

And he watches the curve of Levi’s back; marvels at his waist, at his ass, at his shoulders. The straight line of his spine, the curve of every muscle. 

It’s better, better,  _ better _ than every hazy reverie Eren had imagined. 

He’s up to his knuckles in Levi, two fingers in. His left hand gripping an ass cheek, squeezing bruises into the skin. Levi’s shaking at the legs. 

“Let me fuck you,” Eren whispers. God, he wants that warmth. To be buried to the hilt within this body he adores. “Please. Captain.” 

Levi makes a noise: a deep, quiet grunt. His voice is heavy when he whispers: “Go.”

And Eren’s moving, too rushed to do anything other than undo his pants and pull free his cock. He spits into his hand — enough to leave his mouth dry. He coats it on himself. Steadies his hands on Levi’s hips and pushes in. 

And he’s seeing sparks. 

“Oh,  _ fuck _ ,” Eren gasps. “Oh, fuck, oh god, oh god—” He lays his body against Levi’s back, presses his face against his spine. Drags his lips across the bumps of three vertebrae. 

He can hear Levi’s heartbeat going fast, fast, fast. Pounding against skin and muscle and ribcage. Can feel him breathing these heavy, sputtering gasps. Levi’s hands are twisting bedsheets. He’s so fucking tight around him. 

“Move,” says Levi. “Fuck.” His voice breaks. “ _ Fuck _ .” 

Good enough of an invitation. Eren’s hips start bucking. Rhythmless. Desperate. But, there’s strength in his body. Pressure and speed in his thrusts. He watches Levi’s back arch, his face pressing further against the pillow. 

“Can we—” Eren tries, but his words come out like a moan. “Can we… Another position?”

“Are you coming already?”

“No.” But he’s close. “I’d just like it.”

“Stop —  _ ah _ — moving, then.” 

Levi situates himself onto his back. Spreads his legs for Eren to place his body between. His legs are splayed around Eren’s waist and Eren can feel them jolt when he presses back in. 

“ _ Shit _ ,” Levi exhales. His hand slaps against Eren’s shoulder; his head goes back. 

Eren leans forward on his elbows. And it’s there: Levi’s body... flush and shaking. Muscles constricting, mouth open and panting. 

He wants to see this forever. He wants to see this every day of his life; every day of every lifetime he’s cursed to live again and again. 

He loves this man. In this strange and distant way that Eren will never really understand or know. And yet…

And yet—

(In a few days they’ll reach the ocean—)

He buries his face into Levi’s neck and folds his forearms behind Levi’s shoulders. He’s pressing in deep, buried to where he can no longer move forward. He can feel Levi’s lungs expand and collapse, his chest rising and falling. He feels Levi’s fingernails digging in beside his shoulder blades. He relishes the sting.

(Where, for the first time, they’ll board a boat—)

God, he smells good; clean. He feels even better. Feels beyond what Eren would have ever known. He’s surrounded by the feel of him, his skin against every angle and inch of his body. With his eyes closed, he swears —  _ he swears _ — that this is it, this is the end: he’s lost himself here. 

(To see a place Eren’s already seen—)

And god, he would like that. He would love that. If he has to lose every bit of himself, then let it be lost and buried here in his moment; the last human moment of Eren Jaeger, before his curse upon the world. 

He kisses Levi against his jawline. That tense haze is creeping over him, tightening in his stomach until it ignites like fire.

“Oh god, I’m—” and Eren chokes at the last word. His voice hitches in a cry. He holds desperately to Levi as he comes. 

(In memories that are not his own.)

“Eren.” And Levi’s kissing him, letting his moan bleed into his mouth. 

And Eren knows: 

If this is it —

If this is it — 

If this is it, where the last goodness of him dies… it has been a beautiful death. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Should this work have left you feeling anything, please let me know with a comment so that I know that I’m doing something right. No matter how long or short your thoughts, I can swear I cherish it more than you know.
> 
> For every read, comment, kudo and share: thank you!!!! 
> 
> If you’re looking for something a bit similar, but more from Levi’s point of view, check out my other work on my profile... I’m, uh, a sucker when it comes to angst for these two


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